


Cold Nights

by keelywolfe



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cold Weather, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Porn with Feelings, touch of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 09:26:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7042432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the celebration at Laketown. Not everyone is feeling in the celebratory mood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Every year I attend Mediawest con and every year it's a tradition that I sit in the back of the room and write porn during the art auction. There's something to be said about writing snowy sex while people are bidding on Hobbit pottery and Sleepy Hollow art. This is what I wrote this year.

* * *

If truth were to be told, Bilbo had not considered the world of Men often. A passing fancy, perhaps, brought on by a book of tales about bravery and adventures, and that was what little Bilbo knew. 

Now that he was standing in it, the lot of them in the Master's home enjoying ale and roast fish, he was finding it far too tall, too cramped. He seemed in constant danger of being trod upon and after even after spending so many days chilled and cold, Bilbo found he was in danger of overheating. Crowded in as they were, Bilbo managed to make his way out of the boiling mob in search of some cool air. 

To his somewhat bleary delight, he discovered a door that had been left open, perhaps to combat the churning heat within. A thin beam of moonlight was cast upon the floor and Bilbo chased after it, cradling his mug of cheap ale like the treasure it was. A poor ale was better than none at all and that was the truth.

Through the door, Bilbo was startled to notice that instead of water lapping around him, there was instead a steep drop to it. It was hardly more than a spindly balcony, creaking even beneath Bilbo's slight weight. Once, it might have terrified him, Hobbits not being ones for height in their buildings but if nothing else, his adventures had cured him of that fear. He leaned on the railing, taking in a deep breath of chill air and basking in the coolness on his overheated cheeks. 

"Enjoying the celebration, Master Baggins?"

Startled, Bilbo jerked wildly, his mug slopping beer messily over his wrist. In the ghostly moonlight he could just make out a figure hunched in the corner. A glimpse of long hair and a short beard confirmed his suspicions, and Bilbo shuffled over to him, licking away the damp on his wrist.

"Ah, you gave me a start," Bilbo sank down to sit in front of him. "Master Baggins? Not a few hours ago it was Bilbo."

"Bilbo, then. You did not answer my question."

"Yes, I suppose I am. It's certainly nice to have something else to eat. Or anything at all, for that matter."

Whatever Thorin had to say to that, if anything, was drowned out by a roar of laughter from within the hall. If the sound made Thorin curious, he did not show it, did not so much as shift his weight. Bilbo's eyes were adjusting to the dimness and he could see Thorin had a stein of his own resting on his knee.

"And you?" Bilbo ventured, "Are you enjoying the celebration?"

"Celebration," Thorin repeated, lower and, Bilbo was startled to hear, with a touch of contempt. "Aye, a celebration of our return to our rightful home, given by Men I do not trust and whom do not trust me in return. They look upon my people and see beggars with the possibility of riches, they…" 

Thorin bit off whatever else he meant to say, looking away, over the dips and hollows of the rooftops around them.

"Well, that…" Bilbo floundered. He took a too-quick swallow from his mug, plucking at his borrowed clothes before sputtering out, "…you were happy enough for their help at the time."

"Aye, but as with all things, I am left with very few choices." Thorin fell silent for a moment, and Bilbo sat awkwardly, the dregs of his ale souring on his tongue. He was mentally readying his goodnights when Thorin spoke again, low. "You spoke for me."

"I…yes. I did," Bilbo agreed simply. He could feel the weight of Thorin's gaze on him and shifted uncomfortably. "Of course I did. Anyone who knows you would."

"You spoke for me," Thorin repeated as though he had not heard. With unseemly care, he reached out and took Bilbo's mug from his hand and set it aside along with his own. There was hardly time for a gasp of surprise before he was tugged forward, sprawling gracelessly into Thorin's lap. Bilbo struggled to right himself, looking up automatically and found Thorin's face close to his own, his eyes shadowed in the darkness. Oh, this was…terrible, it was a terrible idea; both of them were tired, weaker from their journeys in more ways that could be described, and yet--

"How much have you been drinking?" Bilbo breathed. Squirming only tangled them closer together and Bilbo fumbled for a place to put his hands, settling at Thorin's shoulders.

"Not nearly enough."

He could taste the ale on Thorin's breath even before his mouth found Bilbo's, his beard scraping Bilbo's softer cheeks. His lips were rough, his tongue taking slick advantage of Bilbo's shock to push inside and explore the darkness within. A low, broken moan was muffled between their mouths; Bilbo discovered to his dim shock that it was his own.

The taste of hops and honey faded beneath the fierce heat of Thorin's mouth, their teeth clacking as Thorin shifted his grip from Bilbo's shoulders to his hips, tugging him closer still.

Bilbo's whimper spilled out into the darkness as he tore his mouth free, panting in gulps of chill air. It turned to a near squeal as Thorin took the moment to settle his teeth against the thin skin at Bilbo's throat, biting gently.

"Aye, sing for me, little bird," Thorin whispered teasingly against his skin and Bilbo squirmed angrily, ignoring Thorin's sharp gasp even knowing precisely where his backside was sat.

The large hands at his hips tightening almost punishingly, attempting to still him. Bilbo only wound his hands into the cold silkiness of Thorin's hair and yanked roughly, tugging his head back.

"I am no weak little creature to meekly obey," Bilbo said warningly, leaning in close enough to see the glazed look in Thorin's eyes.

"Well do I know it," Thorin gasped, and Bilbo rewarded him with a kiss of his own, daringly sinking his teeth into the lush softness of his lower lip. Thorin flinched and swore, yet did not pull away.

"You've the nerve to call me a bird when you're singing songs of your own," Bilbo mumbled out, scraping his teeth along the bearded line of Thorin's chin.

"I would sing any song you wish, I….ah!" Thorin groaned, his hips rising to meet Bilbo's, the two of them rocking against each, fighting for a rhythm. "I would…I…shout my song to the sky, I would—"

He broke off, shuddering, as Bilbo fumbled a hand between them, negotiating through shirts and belts and trousers, seeking and finding skin. His prick felt scalding hot against Bilbo's chilly hand and Thorin choked out a cry as Bilbo managed some sort of grip upon him. It was all terribly awkward and wrong angles, and Bilbo could not let go to try for something better. Greedy want was thick in him and he could do little more than wet his own lip and watch avidly as Thorin tipped his head back with a rough groan.

Fingers dug bruising hard into his hips, Thorin rolling and thrashing beneath him, and Bilbo could only manage to keep his seat, to keep his hand upon Thorin and his grip as tight as he could manage. He stared, unblinking, until his eyes ached with dryness as Thorin found his peak, the hot, slick pulse a shock as it spilled over his fingers. Long moments of Thorin straining up against him until the cloud of his breath streamed out from between clenched teeth and he slumped back against the railing.

His pulse was rabbiting loudly in his ears and Bilbo could still hear the dry click of his own throat as he swallowed. With a wince he pulled his hand free of Thorin's trousers, hardly able to believe what he had done, what had come over him, the chill night, the ale, conspiring against him and—

The cloud of his own breath blinded him and for a moment he could only blink up at the night sky, unable to puzzle out why he could abruptly see the low hanging clouds. It was only when strange hands began to fumble at his own trousers that it became clear that he was upon his back and Thorin was looming over him.

"Ah—" _Wait_ was upon his startled lips, bitten back as Thorin snarled wordlessly, struggling with Bilbo's borrowed belt until it finally came loose and the shock of cold air against his bare skin was enough to stifle any words of pause into a yelped curse.

He hardly had a moment to cringe from the chill when hot breath fell over his skin, followed by lips. They trailed down the length of his cock with unexpected reverence, the lightest flick of tongue against him. 

"Ohh," Bilbo breathed. He managed to raise a shaking hand enough to settle it uncertainly into the tousled curls that fell across his belly and thighs. Lovely and silken, and yet blocking his view, and Bilbo managed to push the spill of Thorin's hair back enough to see him, watching as he parted his lips to allow Bilbo to arch up and press inside. Watched as his prick slowly inched within, Thorin's cheeks hollowing as he sucked. Bilbo narrowed his eyes and watched, hips rising to meet Thorin and then drawing back, hardly able to stifle a shudder at the rush of coldness against his wet skin. It made him drive up faster, harder than he'd meant and Thorin only matched his abruptness, large hands curling beneath Bilbo's bottom, urging him on.

They fell into a stuttered rhythm, stilted little thrusts that kept Bilbo from the worst of the chill. He watched as long as he could until he could bear it no longer, his head falling back against the rough boards with a thump and then Bilbo could only feel, the wet twist of Thorin's tongue against the head of his prick, the desperate gush of his breath as he frantically drew in air through his nose. Felt it as the prickle of pleasure bloomed hot and he drove up hard into the greedy warmth around him, felt Thorin startle and near-choke as Bilbo came in hot pulses. He could feel the heat of his own spilling until Thorin managed to swallow it away, once, twice, before he finally drew back. He pressed a last damp kiss to Bilbo's softening shaft before he sat back on his heels, tugging Bilbo's trousers into place.

Bilbo lay a moment longer, dazed. He watched as Thorin shifted to sit once again with his back against the railing, taking up his tankard again and swallowing down a deep draught.

With a groan, Bilbo rolled to his side, forcing his noodly legs to hold him as he wobbled to his feet. He scrubbed his cold hands over his still too-hot face, knuckling his eyes and when he opened them again it was to his own mug being held before them. He blinked, eyes nearly crossing, before gingerly taking it with fingers already going numb. 

Behind him, he could hear the echo of laughter, the warmth and light spilling out through the open door an invitation. Bilbo turned away from it, settling to sit across from Thorin. The wavering light of the moon disappeared completely beneath the clouds, forewarning of the snow that began to fall, dusting them with white flakes.

"Are you not going to return to the celebration?" Thorin shifted, wrapping both hands around his mug and staring into its depths.

Bilbo took a long drink, settling back against the splintery railing. "I think I'll stay here."

"It will only grow colder."

Of that, Bilbo had no doubt. He said nothing, only breathing out clouds into the chilled air. The moon peeked from the clouds on occasion, casting them both in its silvery light, and the none of them made promises into the dark night. 

-finis-


End file.
